Pancakes

were a last-ditch attempt to save something I knew was fallen apart by the time it started. We trick ourselves into thinking we can be happy with situations that bring us no happiness. Pancakes of all thing. They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. A way to a man or woman’s  anus is through the stomach. Hearts are too mysterious to be so easy navigated to, through, or from. They are dry bushes of thorns which sprout the sweetest summer fruits. We become so hungry for fruit that we eat the thorns, and then wonder why we have stomach aches. Well, a torn up digestive tract is more like it. We are fools, all fools. It’s telling that’s all I can remember in what you taught me in Russian, I am a fool. Yes, I am. But that’s fine. There is a fine line between all things opposite, so if I am a fool I am close to being wise as well. If anything, I am both at once. It is a grey, cloudy day in Toronto, and I long for home. As I always do. But home is where the heart is, and my heart is inside me.

About Moon Eggs

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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